My Neighbors Are Weird: Alfred
by DemonicPiano
Summary: In a little town, with not much to do, Alfred busies himself with bugging his neighbors for attention and free food. Part of my little Neighborhood AU.


_Author's Note - I had this little AU in mind called the 'Neighborhood AU' ('cause I'm SUPER creative). It's just the characters we know and love as _totally_ normal guys in a _totally_ normal busybody neighborhood. I'm going to keep each of the characters that I manage to write in separate fics, as I don't know how often I'll be churning them out, and they are only all loosely tied to one another and can be read separately._

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_Alfred's POV_

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"Hey, Yao, do you have anymore of those dumplings?"

Based on the giant pan sizzling away on the stove, yes, the old man did - hot, coming right up!

He whipped around, looking offended at the presence hanging over his open window sill. "You again?"

Alfred grinned, eyes only on the wok on the stove. "Yeah! Hi! Me again!"

"You are here every damn day! You're like a little dog, you know that?!" After a threatening wave of a spatula, Yao turned and flipped and stirred the goods. Alfred could melt on the spot just listening to their eager sizzling. "Every time I turn on my stove, it's like you hear me from across the street! I turn around and there! Always in my window!"

Literally. Alfred bobbled his head up and down as his feet desecrated some peonies on the old man's front yard. Trying to be cute, he stuck his lower lip out, "Food? Please?"

"Don't your parents feed you?"

"No."

"Ah, that's right!" Yao may have been noisy, but a flat pitch found his voice to sneer, "Dumb young kid with no wife or a cookbook in his name. Shame how they're raising them these days."

"Hey!" Still, Alfred couldn't be offended as Yao flicked off the stove and began to pluck some of those delicious, still crackling goodies on a napkin. He performed a grateful wiggle as the old man came close, pissy scowl on his aged face as always, and held out his hands like a beggar.

"That'll be ten dollars!"

"_What_?!"

"You think I run a charity here? No! I give you food, you give me money!"

"I don't have that much on me!"

"No wonder! You don't have a job! No job, no girlfriend, no dumplings!"

"Is that you worrying about me?"

A furious, "Whaaaat?! You little brat! Go away already if you have no money!"

"Wait!" Alfred jammed a hand under the window Yao went to slam shut. "I have a five!"

It was out of his hands before he finished his sentence, and aggressively replaced with a bundle of paper towels with steaming treats inside. The window shut, and Yao yanked the curtains to cover. "Ooh! Hot! Thanks, Yao!"

Alfred could easily imagine the old fart rolling his eyes, but he was walking away with full hands and burnt taste buds. He considered that mission to be a success, but that was just the appetizer.

The next best place to get some good grub wouldn't be any hot dogs at the gas station, no potato wedges from the deli (although those were good with ranch and ketchup), nope! The best place was a little rosy home bespectacled with all kinds of flower pots and leafy arrangements. A baker, Francis, another old man in the neighborhood (it always seems to be teeming with a bunch of those), owns a small shop just down the road from the suburban houses.

Alfred would kill a guy for one of those cinnamon rolls.

But today, it might be his lucky day that the beardy-French dude would be home, working wonders.

Pounding resonated from a small turn from the main row of houses, and Alfred slowed curiously, tipping his head back to another dumpling. Based on the echoes slapping the road, someone was doing construction. As with any loud noises and the prospect of something new, he wandered in its direction.

Looks like cakes, dates and milkshakes had to wait.

From the main street, a little cottage sat back from the other, more modernly updated homes. A woman craned her head to a man pounding away on the roof as Alfred stopped in front of the fence separating stalks that would sprout into an infestation of sunflowers later that season, and the reality of the rest of the little town.

The guy on the roof had his rear end toward the street, and Alfred had to laugh, cough on a dumpling, and shout out, "Say no to crack!"

Two heads swiveled to the call. Delighted, the woman called back, "Brother, you have a visitor!"

"Jones! What timing!" The man lowered his hammer for a moment, "You come and help, yes?"

"No way, Braginsky! I'm just here to watch your fat ass take a tumble and fall off that roof!"

"You're looking at my ass? Of course you are."

"What's that supposed to mean?! Shut up!"

The Braginsky's were a weird lot. Alfred was surprised the younger sister wasn't around the corner, hissing at Alfred's intrusion as he welcomed himself to push by the creaky gate. Ivan said something to his sister, who in turn positioned a ladder against the house so he could get down.

A little sigh, and Ivan gave a weary roll of broad shoulders as he strolled after their little house guest. "Are you going to be useful today, Jones? Or give me headache?"

Alfred shrugged. "Probably just give you another headache."

"Unlike you, I am a busy man. Unless you want to work for me, then you should leave."

"What happened? You punch a hole in your roof or something?"

"No, silly. Our ceiling has mold and leaks, so the whole thing must go."

"Oh, that sucks."

"Yes, it does."

They wound up staring at one another, silently prompting a move on. None came from either side. Alfred took in another dumpling.

Ivan seemed to know exactly what he was looking at, besides a pig shoveling slop in his face hole. "Are those dumplings from Yao?"

"Nope."

"You're going to eat all of them, fat ass?"

Alfred dodged a hand making a grab for his precious cargo. "Look who's looking at asses now, gay-lord."

"Give me one of them because you bother me."

"Your face bothers me."

"Then why are you here?"

Alfred gloated, "Because I got dumplings, and you don't."

Ivan's sister just sighed and climbed the ladder (which was a nice view), and picked up where he left off.

"Just one."

"Nope!"

"You are greedy."

"You're weird."

"I bet you put all kinds of things in your mouth."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're mean, and you won't share."

"Heh. It's not my fault the old man put a restraining order on you."

Alfred might have hit something sensitive. Fun smiles and giggles suffered and died as Ivan's eyebrows fell into a distant, momentary ping of hurt. Just a second warning before strong fingers grabbed his chin. Okay, Alfred _definitely _hit something sensitive. The Braginsky Beef Brigade 'loomed' closer, narrowing his eyes and pulling a tight smile, "You have a little problem running your mouth, Alfred. How about _I _get a restraining order on _you_? Or better yet! I can help you break your jaw and quiet down!"

One tug upwards, and the guy probably could pull Alfred's feet off the ground with one hand. Who knows, with those man hands, the Braginsky Beef Brigade _could _pull a grown man off the grass with only one hand. Just letting the thought sprint through his head made blue eyes quake behind glasses...oh, man. Oh, _man._ Alfred sputtered against his cheeks getting squished, "You have anger issues, dude."

"I have Alfred issues."

"Sounds like an infestation."

"Yes, I might need some...pest medicine."

"Pesticide."

"Yes, that."

More staring. Alfred was in the right to start grinning as Ivan followed through, about to start snickering from their usual antics, but that quickly morphed into shock as the big fella eased up on his clutch, only to plant a big wet kiss on his lips. "Ugh!"

He quickly whispered something in his mother language, breath hot to his cheek, most likely something along the lines of, "I eat kittens for breakfast," (Alfred didn't know; he didn't understand Russian yet, although he tried to practice in case the guy tried something) before releasing his catch.

Alfred roughly swiped the back of his hand over his mouth, forced a dramatic gag, and yelled, "Gross!"

"No worries! I don't have cooties!" With that, strutting back to his work, Ivan popped a dumpling in his mouth before climbing up the ladder.

Alfred manually closed his mouth, glancing down to his stash in horror, to see an empty space where one of his precious dumplings used to be. Absolutely distraught, he shouted down the trees, "You're an asshole!"

"And you have squishy cheeks!"

The hammering picked up again, leaving Alfred to stew in this lost and give the fence gate a good shove in retaliation before he marched back down the street.

Where was he? Oh, right, time to see what Francis was whipping up. It was a bit overdue.

He finished off the rest of the dumplings and stuffed the napkin in his pocket, goading for the next treat. Last time it was mini-treats he called _Petits-Fours_. They weren't the most god-sent things Alfred could try, but hey, anything sweet and free was, well, sweet and free - because Francis sure the heck wouldn't charge him!

Houses, trees, more trees, more houses, sidewalks, signs telling people to pick up after their dogs - it was a nice little neighborhood. Boring, honestly. That is why everyone always kept an eye on their windows, to run up and get a good look at any drama that happened to pass by.

Francis' home was neater, although still as flowery as Ivan's, since gardening and bingo seemed the main to-do's in this little neighborhood. Alfred stepped on the porch and knocked on the front door, running a finger over the accents of muted sunshine on the door. He bounced in place, whistling at the ceiling, before trying again.

Nothing.

Odd, since Francis' car was in the driveway, and he didn't make a habit to walk all over the town with his occasional hip pains. Alfred decided to trail around bushes of brightly colored and trimmed flowers and wedge between two shrubs and peeked in a kitchen window, trying to push down the feeling of being a creeper. He imagined being in his own house, and turning around to see a face in the window.

Oh, no. Bad thought, bad thought!

Alfred spotted a familiar silky ponytail and rapped on the glass, stomach already grumbling. The dumplings weren't enough. Nope; that was just the beginning.

Francis visibly gasped and gracefully whirled around. He blinked in surprise, but softened to a smile and shake of his head. He motioned for Alfred to open the window and turned around to the gathering of all kinds of baking supplies on his counter.

"_A good afternoon with you here, dear Alfred,_" French was a little easier, if only they said the rest of the words they were speaking.

"Hey, what's up. Why didn't you answer your door?"

"I thought you were one of those solicitors!"

"That's fair. Unless I was a Girl Scout." Alfred grinned. "Then you would be missing out!"

Francis let out a polite laugh before turning to the organized chaos of a baker mid-artwork.

"So, uh, what'cha making? Anything good?"

"_Tsk_! Everything I make is always good!

"Anything good..._for me_?"

Enticed by the sweet call, Francis turned his head in Alfred's direction, clicking his tongue, "Alfred, I'd have plenty of good things for you, but today is something special!"

"Really?!"

"Yes! The community center is hosting a cake-off for the adoption center this weekend. Lots of local celebrities are pitching, so you know that means _I _have to be there! Very special!" _Wink_.

Cake-off for...adopting...? This place was weird.

"That's cool," Alfred said, not really thinking it was cool. But cake...cake was cool. Cake was very cool. He perked up, trying again, "Need a taste tester?"

Almost offended, "Of course not!"

"Bowl licker?"

"I need every drop I can get."

"Even from the whisks?"

"Alfred," Francis stopped to give a stern look, kind but just as persistent, "I'm sorry, dear, but I am _very _occupied at the moment. Perhaps tomorrow is a different day, hm? Oh, not tomorrow..." He hustled to his fridge to scrutinize a notepad attached by fancy magnets. "Yes, my book signing is tomorrow at the library, then that restaurant I promised Sadiq and Yao I would try out..."

Back to the counter. Flour danced into the air. Alfred could almost whine into a sad little puddle.

"Oh, be careful with my rose bushes on the way out, please. What happened last time..._drat,_ have to trim those, too, or I will never hear Arthur's silence ever again!"

"Guess you're busy, huh," Alfred resigned, not bothering to pout when Francis' back was turned. Old bakers got to bake, after all. "I hope you win your, uh, bake-off thingy."

"Yes, thank you. That was kind." Francis pulled away to fetch something across the room, leaving Alfred to watch the dance of his twists and turns, until he found the Frenchman so close. He cupped Alfred's cheeks with warmed, gentle hands and swiftly planted a good smooch to his forehead before grabbing something from a drawer and whisking back to his cake duties. "Give Arthur a headache for me, why don't you?"

Alfred stood stunned at his window, mouth pulling down in a grimace as his chest started to squeeze and ache from holding his breath. "Yeah...will do. See you." Awkwardly, in a robotic fashion, he pushed from the window, stumbled back from the rose bushes, turned, and hobbled back to the sidewalk.

Red. Red as roses. Oh, those were pink. Alfred felt that way, too.

Away from Francis, a iron-wrought fence separated two rows of flowers upon flowers, standing tall and robust, each peaking for the Sun in their competition. Now _those _were some impressive plants. If plants were impressive. Some ran along the fence, all the way to the front, and decorated the entire perimeter of Francis' neighbor's house.

Another old house, except this one kept its vintage charm (still maintained, though!), and the man inside, Arthur, hardly ever had his porch light on at dusk. Passersby would say he's a nocturnal creature, only headed outside at night to pull at non-existent weeds, since that was all he did besides furiously play with giant needles beside his front window.

Today, he was doing the needle thing beside his front window. Although a blond mop curtained his eyes, those horrendous eyebrows could have been seen down the block, knitted together like he knitted...whatever he was intensely knitting. Seriously. There must have been some kind of knitting showdown, and the clock was ticking to mere seconds at the rate this guy was going. Alfred must have missed the memo. He was glad to not have made it.

He stopped in clear view of the fancy three-pane window, bopping on his toes and smiling, waiting for the occupant to see him.

A pause to behold his work, then Arthur went back to it. He stopped again to look up, somehow knowing he had a beholder.

All manner of content fell into a mask of pricked discontent. They stared off, a stormy scowl against a bright grin, before Arthur went back to his self-inflicted knitting competition.

Alfred scooted closer to the fence. Its poles went up to his stomach in one of those fancy arrow-shapes, and jabbed him when he made a show to stick his arms out, and lean over the barrier to take an obnoxious inhale of the sea of roses. He looked up. Arthur had stopped, lowering his needles to glare with the intensity of a thousand Suns.

A little wave, then that hand reached over the fence.

"Alfred!" The old geezer shouted through his window. Alfred glanced up, still grinning down death and giant needles (death by giant needles, perhaps?).

Arthur lifted his bony butt from his fancy plush chair. He pointed a sharp finger past the glass and mouthed, 'Don't!'

Closer. Fingertips grazed soft petals.

'Alfred!'

Careful of the thorns, Alfred pinched a stem, and tossed a cheeky smile toward the man now plastered to the window. Furious little puffs of air from Arthur's nose hit the glass. A twist of the wrist, a tug, and the stalk snapped.

"Don't you fucking dare!"

Alfred straightened, bringing his catch to his nose and exaggeratedly inhaled, shaking his head to the rose's scent.

"You _motherfucker!_" Then, Arthur was gone.

"Oh, shit."

Alfred bolted as soon as the front door slammed into its wall.

"THAT'S IT. EVERY GODDAMN WEEK. I'M GETTING AN ELECTRIC FENCE AND FRYING YOUR ARSE FOR BREAKFAST, LUNCH _AND _DINNER!"

Brave words from the former the town delinquent. Oh, yes, apparently, Arthur used to kick over garbage cans and wear super tight leather pants. That was before Alfred and his brother came to this little town. It was something he wished he could have seen. The trashcan kicking...not the other thing. Maybe. Only to laugh at him, all right? An old geezer squeezing into leather pants must have sounded like a rubbery balloon touching a power-line and squealing for a break.

Alfred risked a peek over his shoulder as he hustled down the street, not exactly jogging, not exactly walking, to see Arthur's scrawny figure do this demonic charge after him. He couldn't keep up.

If the old man had nothing better to do besides look out windows all day, Alfred was doing him a favor.

"You better run! Flower thief! Fucking tit! Go and shove that rose up your arse, and maybe it'll give you a nice personality!"

Somehow, that last one pricked the most.

Either way, even if Arthur could still rock his stomping boots, Alfred outpaced him just by walking any day. A jog around the neighborhood every morning helped. All the other guy did was play with his needles, talk to imaginary friends and yell at anybody even _thinking _about his roses.

His furious shouts and curses could still be heard down the street, but Alfred's lame run tapered off as he hunched forward in laughter. Some curtains swished, curious and screwed faces peeking at the disturbances of an attempt at summoning a maelstrom upon his head. But hey! Five-dollar dumplings and a rose later, maybe it was time to retire back home for the evening.

Alfred had to smile down the street until his cheeks were numb, making sure he went around the block and down the adjacent street to avoid murderous intent.

Yao, Ivan, Francis, and Arthur, this day was filled with different people and different things. These were good days. Maybe tomorrow, Alfred would 'chat up' some of those Other Guys from Europe. It's not like he had a job.

Not yet, of course. School _just _ended a month ago, after all.

As exciting as the day was, the sight of a simple two-story home and the sound of sneakers hitting the cement porch was kinder on the spirits. Alfred twisted the doorknob to find it was locked. He knocked. And again.

"Mattie?"

Nothing.

He dug in his pockets to fish out his own set of keys. If his brother wasn't home...

Alfred found his mouth pulling down as he stepped into a dark house. He turned on the lights and called again. The rooms were empty and quiet.

Matthew, his best friend, his gaming buddy, his chief-pancake maker...was gone. The house was quiet, save for his breathing. "Oh. Not home, I guess. I hope he's picking up some milk."

Alfred decided to settle down with some channel surfing. Maybe some popcorn. Extra butter. After an hour of flicking between cute animals and an alien documentary, he decided to shoot his brother a nosy text.

Bowling night with the guys apparently.

Wait, Matthew had guys?

Alfred shrugged and decided to head upstairs.

He shed his hoodie and jeans, and threw them over his desk chair. Went to the bathroom. Brushed his teeth, made sure he gave a heroic smile and wink to his reflection, then turned off the light. A normal, redundant night. Nothing much to think about.

The ever pressing silence from the walls drowned his thoughts. He crawled into an empty bed in an empty house with empty arms and an empty heart.


End file.
